Once upon a time, on a television set on another planet in another galaxy, far, far away in a little hamlet called Long, Long Ago, in the Valley called "Pleasant" there were four young men who were fairly mediocre musicians and actors.
Some say that it was the beginning of the end of The Age of Innocence.
These fab four (oh, wait - that was another group) had a very popular program on television called: "The Monkees," which earned them fame and fortune some will attest was quite undeserved.
Some of us were very young, mere babes, then. We have a very vague recollection of this show, but our parents and friends (damn their sinful and viscous hearts) remind us of their music.
Time passed, as it always does, and the Monkees grew up to be Primates . . .no, no. Not THAT kind of Primate (although the Anglican Communion would no doubt fare better for it).
They are now full grown men, some of whom, so unlike the rest of us, refuse to grow up. They continue to tour and play their music at State Fairs and in Supper Clubs where Aged Yuppies wax nostalgic about "the good old days," and annoy some of us by persisting in singing the songs they made famous.
Just in case you weren't feeling old enough today, here are the Monkees, then and now:
Alas, it was ever thus. Some of us, like good wine, age better than others.
You know, to tell the truth, I didn't even like the Monkees much, but like so many of the rest of you, I can sing almost every word to almost every song they ever recorded.
Fame. It's an interesting thing, no?
Thank goodness, for some of us, that's one worry that won't concern us.
Just age. (Can you tell I have a birthday this month?)